the moose goes to court

“I can make it. Thank you, but I don’t need your help.”

Between cases, Sarah Davies was enjoying a smoke break as the moose very slowly climbed the cement stairs of her courthouse. Almost twenty people were running around him with cameras and microphones.

“Please, I insist,” said a woman with a news microphone. “At least let me take your briefcase.”

“Thank you, I can manage.”

“Do you feel that the judge will listen to you this time?” A man from an American news channel spoke through a camera lens.

“My case has merit. If the court is just, I will be allowed to speak.”

“What does your wife think about the allegations? E! is reporting that you have begun a trial separation.”

“Were you at the hotel, sir? Honesty can only help your case at this point.”

“I won’t comment on gossip in the tabloids,” the moose said. “These allegations of numerous girlfriends and multiple families is slander propagated by my opponents. Maria and I have never lived together, so we don’t understand what you mean by trial separation.”

“Don’t you want to see your children?”

“Not really, no.”

The reporters murmured among themselves as cameras streamed a hectic scramble of arms and faces to the world.

“Why are you so determined?”

“You’re after the fame?”

“It’s clear to everyone that your opponents are going to win this case. You’re just wasting everyone’s time.”

The moose stopped and turned to the crowd of reporters on the stairs below him. He stood proudly, his left front leg on the top stair of the courthouse and paused before speaking.

“No. Not because of the fame. Because we are being wronged.”

A young boy looked over the shoulder of the moose and saw a Canadian flag waving in the wind. The moment inspired him deeply until he saw that the flag was printed on a garbage bag which had been caught around part of the metal fencing which surrounded the part of the courthouse which was under construction. The torn plastic fell awkwardly against the wind. It’s always under construction, the boy thought before thinking about dump trucks.

The moose turned away from the reporters and continued into the courthouse. He did not want to respond to any more of their questions.

“What was Oprah like in real life? Did you swim in her pool?”

“Are you and Branson really going into space with one of the Kardashians?” 
“I heard you’re going with Irena Shayk.”

“We aren’t wasting time with models in orbit around the planet, that’s for sure,” the moose said, watching his hooves on the steps while he carefully tested his stability. “Richard is determined that this mission is an integral component in the development of the cancer fighting gene therapy which his team is working on.”

“Have you repaid the damages caused to the hotel bar?” 
“Was she worth it?”

“Who are you wearing?”

Sarah Davies felt her phone buzz in her pocket. She pulled it out and read the text on the screen. Is he there yet? She put the phone back in her pocket, finished her cigarette, sighed, and returned to her desk inside the courtroom.

“Please have a seat,” the court bailiff pointed to the chairs arranged behind a wooden table.

“I am not able to sit down,” the moose said.

“Sir, You will have to sit through the proceedings. When the judge asks you to stand, you will stand. Failure to comply means that you will be in contempt and I will have to arrest you. I’ll tell you right now though, after what I’ve heard about you I want to arrest you.”

“No, you don’t understand. I am unable to sit down. If I lay on the ground you will probably think me undignified, and the judge will not be able to see my head over the table.”

“My dog can sit.”

“I am not your dog.”

“You certainly are not. Scruples would never be found in contempt. You, on the other hand, are already in my bad books. One word from the man on the bench, and out come the cuffs! You can trust me on that one.”

“If I were to tell the court when I am sitting and when I am standing, will that do?”
“Fine. Do you as you like. We’ll let the judge decide.” The bailiff walked over to his

post and stood against the wall facing the middle of the courtroom.

The moose surveyed the area where he was expected to give his deposition. Three cameras and twelve microphones on a desk. He was used to that. What he wasn’t used to was the fact that he would have to move the chairs out of the way in order to reach the media. Such details were usually handled by his manager, but the moose could not see that lazy bastard anywhere in the courtroom.

Richard’s probably doing blow right now off that harlot Mandy’s tits, that’s what, the moose thought and then he thought about Mandy’s breasts for a while. That’s hot. But, she’s been trouble since Atlanta. I would have dumped their asses a long time ago if I didn’t need their contacts.

The moose moved the two chairs into the aisle between his desk and that of the legal council for the provincial government. His glance toward the lawyer for the Ministry of Transportation may have appeared to the people in the gallery as being sidelong, but it was not. He stood in the area vacated by the chairs and faced into the largest camera. Men in the gallery behind him were speaking to each other.

“If the judge allows this case to proceed, we’re going to have to take this into our own hands. You know what I mean, Robert.”
“Yeah, I know. My guys are ready.”

“This stupid thing wouldn’t have even got this far if the moose had to do this in French. According to provincial legislation, he should have to do this in both languages.” 

The moose watched the people stir around him for a few minutes. Everyone in the room except for the two bailiffs were talking amongst themselves. After a few minutes, he glanced around a bit nervously before speaking to the room.

“I am sitting down now,” the moose said while remaining standing. The people around him stopped whispering to each other and turned their attention to the front of the courtroom.

Sarah Davies began typing at her desk. Her job was to record every word spoken in the courtroom by people of importance to the case. Most often she handled depositions, such as this one. She wrote so much for her job that she was the only one among her friends who did not blog or network socially. Her friends often blogged about that.

The bailiff cleared his throat. “All rise as His Right Honourable Charles Henry Galbraithe enters the chambers.”

Everyone in the room stood up and went silent.

“I am now standing,” the moose said and remained standing.

A tall man with grey hair and fat jowls walked from a door which opened on the far side of the room. He walked briskly and his black robes continually tripped him as he moved to his bench and sat down. The moose wondered why the man with the most power was the one who least able to run away should anything important happen.

“Please be seated,” the bailiff said. Everyone in the room sat down and remained silent.

“I am seated now,” said the moose. He saw that the bailiff was looking him over very sternly.

“Indeed,” the judge did not lift his eyes from the files in front of him as he spoke. He opened a file on his desk and read for nearly a minute while writing sporadically on both the file itself and a notepad beside it. After it appeared that he had finished reading, he chuckled to himself and wrote a long joke about two priests, a rabbi, an asthmatic duck on assisted living benefits, and a Mogen Clamp in pen on the back of his right hand. “Well, this will be fun,” he finally said. “Whenever you are ready, please begin your deposition. You have three minutes.”

With some minor difficulty the moose opened his briefcase and shuffled through his notes.

“Your honour, I am here today as a spokes– ah, to speak representing the plaintiffs in

the lawsuit first brought against the provincial government of Newfoundland and Labrador back in January of 2011. The appeal brought before you today is a response to the Superior Court’s decision. I was among many of them when the decision was announced and witnessed their outrage and disappointment.”

The moose leaned into the microphones to ensure that he would be heard by everyone.

“When the Court ruled in favour of the government in the case brought forward by the Right to a Safe Life for Moose action group – many of whose members are included in the group for which I have been entrusted to speak – some of the younger brethren among my community wanted blood. They felt that the legal system had abandoned them. More accurately, our case was never seriously considered by the justice system available to us at the time. We lost because we were not recognized. And this was after so many people in both the provincial courts and the news media had made heartfelt assurances about that fact not being true.”

“Nonsense,” said a woman who was seated in the gallery, provoking a great deal of

 casual murmuring.

“Despite the loss,” the moose continued, undeterred. “The RSLM was able to join efforts with numerous other groups to regroup and launch this present appeal. Over the past few weeks, you have heard from our legal experts on the matter. While it is true that I acted as one of the principle consultants for the team, I am not here to go over their arguments again, as they are already a matter of court record.”

The moose paused for a second and looked at Sarah Davies. She sighed to herself, looked down at her computer keyboard, and pretended to type something important when he winked at her in an exceptionally unsurreptitious way.

“I am here to personalize our cause. With great effort, I was able to learn your language–”

“Ha! Tu es drôle. C’est une blague, oui?” said a man in the gallery.

“–and your methods and system of justice. I felt that it was important for me to learn your ways so that I may participate in your system.”

Noise from members of the gallery rose to a loud chant and the judge silenced them by snapping his finger in the air repeatedly.

“Alright, alright,” the judge said loudly. “Enough with that. Moose, you have a minute left.”

“Your honour, I am now standing,” said the moose and remained standing. 
“Careful,” the judge said and glanced at the bailiff, whose smile did not seem to bother trying to mitigate his anger.

“I’m sorry, your Honour. I’ll sit back down. I am now seated,” the moose said and remained standing. “I deny that you can limit my time here. First of all, the RSLM wishes to bring to the court’s attention several problems as current exist with the legislation. Section four reads, and I quote, the holder of a big game licence to hunt, take or kill female only animals shall, upon request of a wildlife officer, produce the head of the animal.”

“Yes, what is your specific problem with the legislation?” the judge did not lift his eyes from the newspaper in his lap.

“Certainly good relations between neighbours cannot be maintained when legislation of such a barbaric nature is enacted.”

“I really don’t see the problem here. Moose have not been granted rights other than presented by this legislation.”

“Nearly everyone in my community feels that we have a right to live and walk among the rural areas of Newfoundland proper.”

The judge rolled up the sleeve of his robe and looked at his watch. His pen fell from his

hand and off the desk and his spine made an audible crack when he bent over to retrieve it. Nearly a minute passed before he was successful.

“While it was not our intention to come to this province,” the moose continued, despite not being able to see the judge. “The fact remains that this is our land now, as much as it belongs to anyone else. With property under the law comes the right to life and free enterprise. My community is demanding nothing from either the provincial government or the people of this province, except for the freedom to be safe in our travels.”

“He should talk,” a man in the gallery said to a woman who was not his wife. “Did you see the size of the car he rolled up in?”

“Thousands of my kind are killed every year by motorists in this province. It is clear to us that neither the province nor the motorists themselves care about this issue, or they would alter their behaviour. Roads are still being built by the province, which is ignoring the appeals from several prominent moose action groups and other associated interests. Drivers continue to speed around in the dark, when members of my community are most active. And perhaps most egregiously, you continue to line your streets and highways with salt in the winter. Again, I don’t want to repeat what has already been heard by the court as published in government records, but you know that our diet leaves us salt deficient. Like you and those number papers you give to each other to get things you don’t make yourself, my community spends at least half of the day in search of this important resource.”

“You are trying my patience,” the judge said as he rolled his eyes. “The Supreme Court has already determined that the province is liable. Consequently, your species needs to be managed and controlled. End of story.”

The moose continued undettered by the judge’s frantic movements under his desk. “We are perpetually drawn to this magic and curious treasure, which you have so conveniently provided for us along your highways of death. The only conclusion that the more reasonable members of my community can make is that you are purposely and cruelly engaging in a drawn-out spectacle of torture and–”

The judge slammed his pen on his desk. “Alright I’ve heard enough. Your minute is over and it’s my turn to talk.” He stood up behind his desk. “This really is the easiest thing I’ve done all month. Your species does not qualify for citizenship under Canadian law. As such, neither your right to property or personhood can be recognised by this or any other court. Your appeal is denied.”

The moose stamped his foot. “Your Honour, I cannot stand for this.”

“Bailiff, would you please remove this animal from the courts. A smell’s starting to rise.”

“With all due respect, Your Honour,” the moose said, slamming his briefcase closed. “Personal insults are hardly justified.”

“Get out or I will turn you into hamburger myself,” said the judge and dropped his

pencil. The moose looked around the room nervously and decided that leaving under his own power was the best thing that he could do.

As he pulled the sleeve of his robe back down to his wrist, the judge read the note which he had written on the back of his right hand and chuckled to himself. “Mogen Clamp. Oh dear, oh dear.”

idle process

GARIIE the computer viewed the employment office in which it was seated with contempt, a last resort for the desperate. The poor collection of men seated around it were obviously transients, their clothes and appearance haphazard and dirty. The men looked at each other with glances indicating to the computer a lone question: why are you here? The computer decided to keep to itself and wait patiently for its turn before its number was called.

“Please come forward,” the clerk at the employment office said. He was dressed neatly in black with a red tie. “We can’t have you holding up the line.”

            The computer nervously approached the employment desk before presenting itself. The clerk shuffled some papers on his desk without looking at the computer.

            “Please, make yourself comfortable,” the clerk said. He gestured to a chair in front of his desk. “Please.”

The computer did what it was told.


“So, what can I do for you,” the clerk asked, coyly scratching a finger inside his left nostril.

The computer waited a few seconds before speaking. “So I’m here to –”

            “Hold on a sec. Let me pull up your file.” The clerk fumbled with a keyboard on his desk for nearly a minute. “I’m still not very good at this. They changed everything with this new system. One day of training without lunch.”

            I can wait, the computer thought to itself and waited.

            “Why would they put the menu there, of all the god damn places?” the clerk muttered under his breath. “Damn thing. The other window just keeps going in front no matter what you...”

            The computer waited for the clerk to finish.

“It doesn’t matter if you tell me to click there. I can’t click anywhere with the damn window, so why... stop. Now it doesn’t stop. Please stop.” The clerk stopped fumbling with the mouse and punched the keyboard. “Why?!?”

            The computer was getting confused and a little anxious about the clerk’s mental health, but worked to keep these feelings to itself.

            “Ok. I think I figured it out.” He smiled. “Yes. There we go. Ok, so you’re looking for work, right? Bit of a joke there.”

            The computer waited.

            “Try to keep up, Gary. Now, where were we. Obviously you are looking for work, yes. Otherwise why would you be here? Wasting everybody’s time. You’re not a time waster, are you Gary?”

            “My name is not pronounced like that.”

            “What do you mean? I have your official records right here.”

            “I mean that my name is pronounced GARIIE, not Gary.”

            “Surely that’s what I said. Employers like it when they can see that you are always paying attention, Gary. It’s all about independent competency. When you’re being interviewed for a job, look around the office. Try to learn as much as you can in a short amount of time. Keep notes for yourself if you find it difficult to keep up. And for heaven’s sake, Gary, study them later so that your boss doesn’t have to prompt you so much.”

            “My name is GARIIE.”

            The clerk stopped shuffling papers for a moment and furrowed his brow. “Just as a little personal aside, don’t take it the wrong way when I say that you’ll find an easier time fitting in with other people if you aren’t so stubborn about things. It’s all about psychology, Gary. Your employer and co-workers are going to be working with you ten hours each day, five days per week. You want to make it so that people want to work with you. That’s how you find success in this world, mark my words!”

            The computer waited.

            “Right. So what is it that you do?”

            “I don’t understand the question. I’m here looking for work.”

            “Of course you are, Gary. Of course you are. Language skills are important. Is English your second language?”

“Naturally.”

            “What do you mean, ‘naturally’? How am I supposed to know what’s natural or not for the clients who come into my office? Don’t make assumptions, Gary. Assumptions lead to miscalculations, and miscalculations lead to failures. I see a lot of people every day and I really can’t properly accomplish my job making assumptions like that, can I? Where would people be?”

            The computer waited.

            “People rely on each other. Really, Gary, I hope you agree that your attitude needs adjusting. I’m here to help you, and I am also needed to help other people. My time is important for everyone, not just me please understand. So I like to do things quickly, efficiently. What I don’t like are people who waste my time with games.” The clerk’s eyes narrowed into a stern focus. “Are you a game player, Gary?”

            The computer waited.

            “I hope that you don’t play games with people. Nobody likes people who play games at work because then they have to pick up the slack. Everyone loses. Loses time. And loses money. And what does the person playing games have to gain? Not much, if you ask me.”

            The computer waited.

            “Gary, are you even listening? I can’t tell. It’s all about appearances, you see. Time is money, Gary. I’m sure you’ve heard that before. You need to prove to employers that the time they pay for you will make them money. Lots and lots of money. Do you understand?”

            
            The computer waited. The clerk sighed and rolled his eyes.

            “Let’s start over. What skills do you offer employers, Gary?”

            “I was designed for geometrical and arithmetic retroanalysis of interactive information environments.”

            “Why that skill, in particular?”

            “It’s what I know, and it’s what I’ve done my whole life.”

            “Retroanalysis? That sounds pretty lucrative.”

            “Indeed.”

            “Education?”

            “I possess all requisite international certifications.”

            “Impressive.”

            The computer displayed something like a smile.

            “So why aren’t you doing any geothermally-articulated retroanalysis right now?”

            “I am only knowledgeable about geometric and arithmetic retroanalysis.”

            “Right,” The clerk said as he scribbled over the notes which he had been taking. “No one is here to judge you, Gary. We’re here to help. After all, it’s your field, not mine.” The clerk opened a web page and scanned it quickly. “Anyway, I’m told that interactive information environments are booming right now.”

            “I’m not as efficient as the new systems are. It is more logical to use them instead of using me.”

            “What about working for less competitive companies in your field? The smaller enterprises which exist on the margins of every market are often looking to save costs.”

            The computer waited. The clerk looked out the window for a moment and then back at the computer.

            “Why do I get the sense that you are holding back from me, Gary? Is there something that you aren’t telling me?”

            “My name is GARIIE.”

            “Right, we went over that already.” The clerk tapped the desk with his pencil. “Let me be honest with you, Gary. So that you can be honest with me. I’ve seen this behaviour before. Many, many times in fact. Now is the opportunity for you to disclose any vice-related or criminal reasons for your unemployment, as I can direct you to the appropriate services.”

            “I won’t tell the police, if that’s what’s keeping you from telling me what we both need you to say.”

            The computer waited.

            The clerk lowered his tone to hide his disappointment. “Anything at all, Gary.”

            The computer waited a moment before speaking. “I suffer from disability due to a workplace accident.”

            “Ah,” the clerk smiled through thick eyebrows. He was obviously pleased that he could completely fill in one of the larger boxes on the form in front of him. “Now we’re getting somewhere. Please provide more details.”

            “Two other employees were getting married on the desk beside me and spilled a bottle of orange juice. As a result, my processing capabilities have been compromised slightly.”

            “Married?”

            “Yes. It took almost two minutes and sixteen seconds to perform the ceremony.”

            “And you are telling me that this injury keeps you from working?” The clerk shuffled through the papers on the desk in front of him. “I don’t see a worker’s compensation claim in your files.”

            “I was removed from the office before the nature and extent of this injury could be determined.”

            “You mean nobody had a look at you after it happened?”

            “No. They were cleaning up after they finished marrying each other.”

            “Wow. That must have been some honeymoon.” The clerk laughed to himself while the computer waited.

            “I assume that standard tests would work. Do you know any?”

            “No.”

            “Nevermind. Ok, let’s see. We can do this.” The clerk continued to mumble under his breath while scanning webpages. The computer waited.

            “Ok. Please interpret the data sets on my screen and write the result on this piece of paper.” The clerk turned his screen to the computer and displayed a very large array of numerical data. Holding down a button on his keyboard, he scrolled through thousands of screens of data then placed a blank sheet of paper in front of the computer.

            “I don’t quite follow the syntax of your question. Do you want me to perform a geometric or an arithmetic retroanalysis of this data? I can perform both, you know.”

            “Geometric will be fine.”

            The computer nervously looked around the office. “In retrospect, this operation does not adequately demonstrate my capabilities. Where are the users who will be modifying the data set as it is analysed? This office is not a properly interactive environment.”

            “We can forget about the interactive environment for now. Please just answer the question as it is written.”

            The computer performed its calculations and printed the result on the piece of paper. It was obviously very pleased with itself and beeped happily. The clerk picked up the paper and read STRAWBERRIES! in a script font. He folded the paper and put it into one of the file folders on his desk.

            “So you’re looking to be retrained, start a new career maybe?”

            “Not really, no. I know what I can do.”

            “Listen, Gary. Your situation is a difficult one, I’m afraid. Do you have any hobbies?”

            “I collect stamps and pretend that I have been to all of the places that in real life I will never see.”

            “Clever. But not really a transferable occupational skill, is it? What else can you do?”

            The computer paused for a moment before speaking. “I can make missiles with my mind and shoot them at space aliens.”

            “Here we go again,” the clerk sighed as he raised an eyebrow. He opened his desk and pulled out a new form. “The war’s over, Gary. War’s over.”

            The computer waited.

“Ok, finally that’s something we can agree on. Like you say, right now we need to focus. Me and you, Gary. Me and you. We are a team and our team goal is to find you a job. That’s the only game we’re going to play, you and I. So let’s both brush the dust off our pants, pick ourselves up, and meet a new day! Unfortunately, that day starts tomorrow. Today, right now, you and me Gary we’re going to have to fix our little thinking problem now, won’t we?”